“We’ll get through this, Al.”

Alice and her sister stared at a three-by-three grid of monitors pinned to the Aspen Orthopedics exam room wall.

“If I can’t ski, I may as well be dead.”

X-rays glowed on the displays showing various angles of the broken bones. A nurse in aquamarine scrubs nervously flanked the doctor holding a metallic iPad as they entered the room.

If the doctor was tense, he didn’t immediately show it as he addressed the women. “Morning, Alice. Rebecca.”

Doctor Reid took a seat on a stool and slid to the left of Alice’s wheelchair. “I wish I had better news,” he spoke flatly to the screen in his hand like he was reading from a script. “The break to the ulna in your left arm was clean.” The nurse did her best Vannah White, pointing to a black void on one of the x-rays where two bones were once connected as if the onlookers needed help. “It should fully heal in four to six weeks with minimal rehab.”

Alice wasn’t concerned about the arm; already cast in plaster. Her stare, and cause for her accelerated heart rate, was focused on her right leg, stretched straight out in front and held motionless in a massive, full-length air-splint.

Before speaking again, the doctor raised his eyes and looked at Alice’s sister then to Alice. “The leg is another story,” he finally said in a warmer tone. “The two fractures in the lower tibia and fibula will heal once we cast your leg, same as the arm,” he paused for a moment, glanced down and swiped the screen. Alice noticed a slight quiver in his lip. “Your knee was not as lucky.”

Doctors normally restrain from a show of emotion. Normally, they present their prognosis, chart out a plan for healing and offer an estimate as to the extent of functional recovery. Normally. But Alice Springfield was no normal patient for Dr. Reid.

Alice was a twenty-one-year-old Olympic hopeful in women’s downhill super-G alpine skiing. The injuries were the result of a crash suffered during a training run for the World Cup finals; an Olympic qualifier and one Alice was favored to win.

“You’ve torn your anterior cruciate ligament or ACL,” he continued slowly, empathetically. “And unfortunately, Alice, you have a grade-two tear of the posterior cruciate ligament.” Alice hung on his every word. “The good news is we will be able to repair both with minimally invasive surgery, but the recovery time from the PCL tear is approximately nine to twelve months.” The room fell silent.

“I’ll miss the qualifiers,” she whispered as a tear trickled down her cheek. “A death sentence.”

~ * ~

A starburst of yellow-orange sunlight gleamed off the tallest spire in a centurion-like range of mountain peaks, like a glistening star atop the Christmas tree in Rockefeller Plaza. Shadows etched ash-tone patterns into an otherwise pristine blanket of white snow. Alice dragged her stiff body to gaze out a floor-to-ceiling wall of glass as she washed down a Vicodin with a gulp of luke-warm coffee.

She didn’t technically need the pain pill. It had been three months since the successful reconstruction of her knee. The bones had healed as planned and were stronger than before. Her body ached most mornings, but she was progressing and would most likely be back on the slopes sooner than the doctors predicted. The pill was meant to numb, but not her physical pain.

It was the week of the World Cup finals and Alice was supposed to be competing, not holed up in a mountain cabin somewhere in the Austrian Central Alps. Blizzard Sport, her biggest sponsor, arranged for the all-expenses-paid getaway for her and Rebecca. It was a means to distract, so to speak.

“I don’t think I could ever get used to that view.” Her sister’s voice came gently from behind.

“I should be out there,” Alice sighed, shaking her head. “I should fucking be out there.”

“I know, Al and you will be. You’re strong and young. There will be other competitions, another Olympics.”

“No,” she snapped. “It’s not the same, and you know it, Bit.”

Bit was the nickname Alice had unwittingly bestowed upon her sister. A slight speech impediment when she was young caused her to pronounce Rebecca as Rabbit. The name stuck and was shortened to Bit over the years.

“Your tribute to mom and dad will still be the same, and you know that.” Bit’s voice took a sharper tone, bordering hot.

She was good for Alice. Only three years her elder, but had been forced into a motherly role when they lost their parents in a tragic car accident four years prior.

The Winter Olympics had been held in Lake Placid, New York, two hours north of their hometown in Vermont. Alice was sixteen at the time and already on a path to making the US Ski Team. Arrangements were made for her and the family to stay just outside the Olympic village with VIP passes to all the events.

It was the third night, and Alice’s parents decided to peel away, just the two of them; a secluded dinner at a restaurant nestled in the mountains. On their return to the village, the car skidded on a patch of black-ice sending them tumbling down an embankment. Neither were alive by the time the safety crew reached them.

“I just don’t know, Bit. Maybe my crash, these injuries, are a sign that–”

“You’re in your fucking head again,” Bit interrupted, “and I’m getting tired of reminding you how talented you are.” She dramatically fell back into an extravagant sofa where the wall of windows met a towering rock fireplace. Alice slumped in a heap next to her.

Pulling out her phone, Bit began to scroll like she was searching for something. “You’re coming with me tonight,” she said, then mumbled, “if I can just find his number.”

“Who’s number? Chester, our whacked-out driver?”

“I’ll admit, he seems a touch… eccentric. But you can’t tell me you are not a little curious about that party he mentioned?”

“Well, you can go alone. I have a date tonight with a bottle of vodka.”

“You need to get out, meet people, maybe even get laid. You’ve been so goddamn focused on your training and now rehab. When was the last time you took some time for Alice?”

“I’ve had sex, Bit.”

“Yeah? When? Who?”

“Guys. Hundreds of them, sometimes two, even three at a time,” she quipped.

Alice’s sarcasm was blatant. Truth be told, skiing had been a part of her life since she was a child. As she blossomed through her teens it continued to dominate her search for identity. She’d had sexual encounters, but none that could equal, let alone surpass, her love for the sport.

“Found it! Chester Winkler Kaat - Alpine limo driver by day, sex shop owner by night. Maybe we can stop by his store on the way, pick up some… accessories.”

“You’re sick, Bit.”

“You’re coming, Alice.”

Steamy-fog still clung to the top of the bathroom mirror as Alice leaned into the vanity, palms pressed flat like she was bracing herself from falling. She looked stunning but felt empty, hollow. Her long blonde tresses were being held by a thick black headband allowing her loose ringlets to cascade down, framing her face. Gorgeous.

She hadn’t packed much in the way of party attire, so a dark thermal top and white leggings would have to suffice. Her powder-blue, three-quarter length coat had a skirt-like flare below its belted waist. Not perfect, but dressy enough for whatever party Bit and Chester were dragging her to. A pair of black, twenty-eye Doc Marten boots laced up to just below her knees added the finishing touch.

“Al, come on! Chester’s here,” Bit called up the stairs of the opulent mountainside chalet.

Alice tossed another Vicodin onto her tongue and swallowed without the aid of any liquid. She glanced once more in the mirror; crystal-blue eyes glossed with wonder. Forcing a smile, she clicked off the light.

“Well, well, well, look at you all cleaned up.” Chester’s honeyed words seemed to float through the air. Alice paused midway down the staircase and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Smile, sweety,” he continued. “Rage may look fine on you, but redeyes suit so few.”

Chester was a corpulent man. Stout. The complexion of his chocolate-colored skin always seemed to have a matte finish, flawless but lacked the luster of a sheen. It was difficult to judge his age, Alice put him somewhere in his late thirties. He adorned a dark-grey suit with gainsboro horizontal stripes in a futile attempt to make himself appear... less portly. He flashed a toothy smile that seemed to extend from ear to ear, then slinked into the living room. Alice followed.

“Where are you taking us tonight?” She asked to his back. “It’s been snowing for hours, won’t that make it dangerous to drive?” Her words were taut.

“To drive would be crazy,” he scoffed, “and crazy is never far away, so we shall walk instead.”

“Walk? It’s freezing out there, and did you not hear me just say it is snowing?”

“Relax, Al.” Bit smiled as she entered the room. “He has a plan.”

Chester led them through the cabin to a door tucked in a butler’s pantry toward a back corner of the house. A small plaque labeled, Privatgelände hung at eye level.

“Almost this entire town sits atop a network of tunnels,” he explained. “You see, Alice, we don’t like to venture out into the cold snow either.” He slipped a gold key into the door handle and turned it with a click. Cool, dank air slithered into the warmth of the cabin as the door creaked open.

Chester reached in and flipped a switch. A row of sparse light-bulbs snapped to life. Slate stairs illuminated under a hazy-orange glow and curved down into what seemed to be an abyss.

“I’m not going down there.” Alice took a step back.

“Come on, Al,” Bit called out as she hastily bounded down the earthy stairs and into the dimly-lit darkness.

Chester turned to Alice with his broad smile. “Where is your spirit for excitement?” He began to walk backwards, down into the tunnel as if he had eyes behind him. “Each adventure requires a first step, Alice.” His voice trailed and soon he too was out of sight.

Alice could have easily shut the door, stayed where it was comfortable. She could have turned and grabbed the bottle of vodka for a solemn night of numb contemplation. Instead, she stood and stared, slumped in a somewhat confused stature. Bit’s giggle echoed up the staircase.

‘For her.’ She breathed deep, squared her shoulders and edged through the opening.

The soft soles of her boots were silent as she descended into the tunnel slowly, cautiously. She listened for sounds, half-expecting to hear screams of torture.

Her heel slipped off an uneven lip and she stumbled before regaining her balance. The jolt ached her knee and she thought of turning back but eventually reached a dusty tile floor. Music came from deep within. It was faint, more like a vibration than discernible noise. Alice followed it, still guarded.

Along the way she passed several other openings. Ungated thresholds lit in the same orange glow. Alice pressed on following the sounds and soon reached a beefy wood door. She spun to see if anyone else was coming behind her. Nothing. Turning back to the ancient-looking gateway, she knocked softly.

“There’s no way anyone inside will hear that,” she mouthed, trying to summon her inner courage.

With a raised fist, she stood ready to pound her knuckles into the wood. Her attack was halted mid-swing as a small window-like hatch slid open.

“What.” A deep voice bellowed from behind two eyes, keenly peering down at her.

“Umm. I’m here for the party? Chester brought me?” she said sheepishly. “My sister should be with him. Her name is Bit, well… Rabbit... What am I saying? Her name is Rebe–”

The hatch snapped shut. Alice fidgeted; seconds passed like hours until finally the door opened with a crack.

“You’re late!” A tall, slender woman stood a few feet from the doorway, encased by a glowing emerald light.

Alice’s eyes were drawn to her skin which was pale, just a slight shade darker than the snow outside. Her powdery complexion accentuated a set of pouty, ruby-red lips. Aquablue eyeshadow decorated her lids and the tips of her eyelashes were white like they were frosted by ice. Fiery-red hair blazed outward like flames surrounding her face. A tophat sat on her head and appeared as if it were trying to squelch the hairy inferno.

“What is this place?” she asked pretending to peer past her.
 
“This place…” the woman spun, arms outstretched, “is the Queen’s room, where the past and the future do not exist. Can you feel it?”

She was wearing a long ashen dress of Edwardian fashion –slim fitting with bulbous, puffy, ruffled shoulders and an orange-brown bow tied neatly around the neckline. She looked as if she were ready to board the Titanic; fashion-model striking which made Alice’s heart flutter.

“I feel something, just not sure what it is. Who are you?”

“Who are any of us?” she replied, then continued without waiting for an answer. “My name, however, is Harriet Mahdner.” She tipped her hat. “Duly appointed by the Queen to welcome guests.” She eyed Alice head to toe. “Especially the cute ones.”

“Nice to meet you, Harriet. I am Alice, but I’m no–”

“Please, please, please,” she interrupted, yanking Alice further into the room. “Call me Hattie.”

A hulking brute then swung the door shut and latched a lock.

“Okay, Hattie. I’m not sure why I am here, other than I’m trying to find my sister and our friend, a little chunk of a fellow.”

Alice scanned the subterranean room. The scene was gothic and surreal, like a dungeon without the iron maidens. Tables and booths lined the exterior walls, tucked under shadowy stone arches; each alcove lit by a different pastel-colored light. The air was warm and filled with the happy drone of conversation. There were people, but it didn’t feel crowded. There was music, but it wasn’t loud. Her Vicodin-induced euphoria seemed to be hitting its apex.

“Some are here to find friends. Some are here to find themselves,” she said in a sing-songy voice then cupped the back of her hand to her mouth. “Most are just here for the sex.” Her eyebrows fluttered up and down. “Which is it for you?”

At the mention of sex, something tripped in her mind and Alice suddenly became more aware of the room. Upon second inspection, pillows and blankets were strewn about, and the people in each of the niches were in various states of giddy copulation.

Across the way, a man was sitting naked on another man’s lap, cock buried between his cheeks so that their balls stacked neatly on top of one another. In a separate booth, a stark-naked woman lay across the table while three others ravished her body.

“I don’t think I belong here.”

“You won’t know where you belong until you know you,” Hattie smirked and looked seductively into Alice’s eyes. “What you are... In here,” she placed a hand on Alice’s heart, “will control you, unless you learn how to accept it.”
 
“That’s easier said than done. You don’t know me, or what I’ve been through.”
 
“Oh, don’t be so mawkish. Sometimes, the best way to find yourself is to lose yourself.” She moved closer, pressing more firmly into Alice’s chest.
 
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
 
“Sure it does, but you’re too deep inside your head, Alice. Your path, your answer, cannot be found until you leave that mind far behind,” she tapped her free hand to Alice’s forehead. “Follow your heart.” They were close enough that Alice could feel the heat of Hattie’s breath.
 
“And how the fuck do I do that?”
 
“You trust me,” she whispered to Alice’s lips.

Alice’s body tingled from tip to toe, frozen and poised but perhaps not entirely ready for whatever whimsical act Hattie had in mind. She’d kissed a girl before, in high school, but the girl was a friend and the kiss was partly on a dare. This all seemed to be happening at warp speed, yet time felt like it was at a rigid standstill.

After a figurative eternity, Hattie pecked Alice’s lips with a smack, like the snapping sound of chewing gum. “You need to meet the Queen!” Whimsical.

The Queen sat on a crimson velvet throne set in a manner so she could see all of the action in the room.

As Hattie pulled Alice through the crowd, she caught sight of Bit gyrating with a gentleman who looked twice her age and dressed as though he had just come off the slopes. Their eyes connected and Bit offered a smile. Alice returned the look with a raised-brow. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

“Hurry. You walk like you’re dragging a damn piano!” Hattie gruffed and yanked Alice, spinning her away from her view of Bit.  

Reaching the Queen, Hattie stopped abruptly forcing Alice to shuffle in next to her. Both dropped their hands and stood at attention as though they were in grade school about to be scolded by the headmaster.

“Miss Hattie, you look good enough to eat,” the Queen spoke with a baritone lisp. “And who might thith tiny tart be?”

Hattie pulled her dress at the sides and curtsied. “This is Ali–” She paused and frantically turned away from the Queen. “Why I don’t even know your full name,” she said in an undertone so only Alice could hear.

“Make something up,” Alice replied with a wink.

Hattie’s eyes grew wide. “I may be falling in love,” she quipped.

“No time for her name,” the Queen ordered. “Get the tart to the slalom gate!”

“Slalom? I… I can’t ski, not yet…”

“Tea. Not Ski,” Hattie said directing Alice’s chin toward the far corner of the room. A long, narrow neon-lit block of ice sloped at an angle from the ceiling with a serpentine-like trough carved into the center from top to bottom. “All guests must drink the Queen’s tea.”

Hattie led Alice to kneel at the base where a pussy shaped chin-notch was etched into the ice. Chester appeared at the top holding a silver teapot; a devilish look on his face. The hot liquid steamed as it hit the ice, slithering its way through the sinuous course. By the time it hit Alice’s tongue, it was perfectly chilled, quite tasty and unlike any tea she had ever had.

“That’s going to hit you in a few minutes,” Hattie said. “We will want to be secluded somewhere more secludier when it does. Follow me.”

Hattie was right. Alice’s head felt light by the time they reached the private room.

It was cozy for being cave-like. The flicker of candlelight shimmered on the walls and it was quiet, although they could still hear the music clear enough. In the center was a large rug and a grandiose chandelier hung from a tall arched ceiling. An oversized sofa ran in an L-shape along the far wall.

“Dance with me?” Hattie outstretched her hand and Alice took it after an anxious hesitation.

Having raced hundreds of events she was well acquainted with nervousness. Each time she entered a starting gate, jitters would numb her body. Over the years Alice learned that anxiety and excitement share the same mindset. In order to compete at such a high level, she developed a technique, a method to switch that mindset from fear, to borderline titillation.  

As they swayed, Hattie’s lips pressed to Alice’s ear. “You’re beautifully wistful,” she whispered. “And, I would very much like to know you, as you get to know you.”

Chills covered Alice’s skin; the tea was mixing nicely with the Vicodin. She couldn’t find words, just flipped that mindset switch to full-blown arousal.

It was Alice who took charge this time, forcing Hattie down onto the sofa. She dropped to her knees with a growing hunger for something sweeter than the tea. Hattie seductively pinched her lower lip. For a moment their eyes connected while the dull purr of music bled into the room.

Without breaking the stare, Alice tore off her powder-blue coat and pushed Hattie’s dress up to gather about her waist. Her bald, glistening mound was in perfect view. With palms flat, Alice pressed along the insides of Hattie’s toned legs, pushing them open as they slid. Leaning forward, she filled her lungs with the smell of lust, more intoxicating than any tea or pill. She had to have a taste.

Delicate fingers gently pried open the petals of Hattie’s flower. Her crimson button, framed against alabaster skin like a cherry on a vanilla sundae. Slipping fingers lower, Alice pressed her mouth to the nub and began to suckle and hum. Hattie writhed in her seat with a mouth-gaping moan. Alice wrapped a hand around, pressing firmly into the small of Hattie’s back. She was locked on.

Two fingers on her other hand then slid forward and found their way into Hattie’s silky tunnel. Her walls were warm and thick. Alice continued to suck while twisting her fingers inside, first pushing down into the lower muscles before curling them up to press firmly into Hattie’s spongy g-spot.

“You wicked, wicked woman,” Hattie cried out, squirming like a snake made of jello.

Alice could sense Hattie’s orgasm was nearing climax. She wanted to dangle her lover on that edge but something inside boiled. Perhaps it was the spell of the tea or maybe just her fevered competitive spirit rejuvenated propelling her to the finish line.

Her lips released from Hattie’s clit and frenzied fingers tore open the buttons of her dress. Alice then slithered up while bringing two fingers back to the sopping cunt they came from. Without warning, she sank her teeth into the soft, exposed flesh of Hattie’s tit. With an arched back, Hattie momentarily suppressed her breath then cried out as she flooded the fingers inside her.

Alice slumped on top, both women breathing deep as if they had just finished a race. They lay there for more than a while, reveling in the excitement. Alice’s ear rested on the fresh bitemark listening to the thrum of a racing heart. She began to time her breath to the rhythm. Hattie simply smiled and ran her fingers over and over through thick, blonde tresses.

The room around Alice slowly slipped away.

When Alice awoke, she was back in the bed of her chalet, half-naked, groggy, and unsure if the night had been real or some Vicodin-laden fantasy. Her head throbbed and bright morning sun glared off the snowy mountains to flood her room with white light.

She sat up and ran a hand through her mussed hair, trying to make sense of what had happened. “Must’ve been a dream,” she muttered to an empty room.

“That was all a dream?” Hattie appeared in the doorway twirling a gold key around her finger; feigning a look of confusion. “If that was just a dream, well then… have I gone mad?”

Alice smiled and felt her heart skip as the night swung back in favor of reality.

“I’m afraid you are mad, Hattie dear,” she replied. “In fact, you’re entirely bat-shit crazy! But, I’ll let you in on a little secret.” She curled her finger, beckoning her lover to come closer.

Hattie made her way into the room and playfully crawled across the bed to press her ear to Alice’s lips.

“I do believe... I too must be crazy.”

Hattie quickly moved to straddle Alice’s panty-clad waist, touching her finger to the tip of Alice’s nose. “All the best people are.”